Registration
by Wyrmskyld
Summary: Just a little trip to the Ministry of Magic. OneShot


_**Before you ask, I don't know. This story just... came to me, and repeated in my head 'til I had to type it out. And once typed, I decided I'd use it to prove to you all that I'm not dead yet. I'm getting better. I feel happy!**_

_**Anyway... umm... if you recognize it, it belongs to JKR, if you don't, it's mine.**_

The telephone box wasn't very imposing. Quite the opposite, really. The wall next to it was covered with badly-spelled graffiti, and the few panes of glass in the box that weren't cracked were missing entirely. To all appearances, the box was out of order, and given the look of the neighborhood it was highly unlikely that it would ever be repaired.

A teenaged boy eyed the street skeptically, wrinkling his nose at the stench of a nearby dumpster that was in dire need of dumping. Then he looked down and studied a piece of paper in his hand. After several moments he seemed, if not satisfied, at least resigned to the location. Folding the paper carefully, he tucked behind his ear a lock of prematurely grey hair and entered the derelict box.

With a detached part of his mind, the teenager noted that his hand was shaking with exhaustion and nervousness as he lifted the receiver and dialed the number that had been provided in the letter. He wondered sourly if they had deliberately made the appointment for today. That seemed rather cruel, if it were the case.

Dark musings were cut short by the pleasant but emotionless tones of a female voice, coming not from the receiver, but from the telephone box itself. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and business."

The boy provided his name, and sighed. "I'm here to register."

"Thank you," replied the voice. "Please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

The boy accepted the bronze badge, pinning it to the hooded sweatshirt he wore despite the oppressively warm weather. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

Nodding absentmindedly, the boy was far more interested in the relief of darkness as the floor of the telephone box descended below street level. Taking a few calming breaths in the pitch black, he wished the elevator would just continue going down forever, hiding him from the light and the ordeal that awaited him.

All too soon, however, bright light appeared, starting at floor level and rising to dazzle his eyes—sensitive to light even without having spent several long moments in complete darkness. Pulling his hood further up to cut some of the light, he began the trek across the Atrium. Half-blind from the light and focused on his destination, the immensity and beauty of the foyer of the Ministry were completely lost on him.

By the time the boy reached the security desk, his eyes had adjusted somewhat to the light in the Atrium so that his vision was no longer obscured, although he was certain that his pupils were mere pinpricks. This was apparently the case, since the security guard swallowed hard and did his best not to meet the teen's crimson gaze as he went about his duties. The 'search' was blessedly short and unintrusive, and the guard seemed to be reassured by the boy's calmness.

"Wand." Hesitantly the boy handed it over, trying not to show how nervous he was that it might not be returned. The guard snatched at the strip of paper that came from his instrument and read, "Ten and a half inches, jackalope antler core, been in use… one hundred and forty-two years. I-is that correct?"

The teen nodded, and chuckled a little sadly at the alarm in the guard's voice. "It's a family heirloom."

"Of course." The guard didn't sound convinced, but the boy ignored that, waiting patiently for instructions. "Level four, then. It'll be the third door on your left."

Putting his wand away, the boy walked over to the golden gates, squeezing in with a carful of harried-looking witches and wizards. He moved off to the side and leaned against a wall, trying to conceal his shaking. Despite eyes half-closed and staring at his feet, he could sense people looking at his visitor's badge and flinching away from him. Even had he not sensed them, the growing scent of fear in the lift would have made things clear.

He closed his eyes, sighing. So this was what it was going to be like. For the rest of his life he was going to be treated like this. The very thought made him want to run as far and as fast as he could away from this place, and find somewhere to hide where no one knew him. Somewhere where there were no people around to know him.

Most of the Ministry employees in the lift got out at level six, although the boy was sure the majority of them didn't belong there. Still, their departure cleared up the miasma of fear, so that by the time he reached the fourth level the only fear his nose could detect was his own.

Taking another calming breath, he struck out into the hallway, scanning the plaque on the third door before entering into a small reception area. It looked so much like a muggle doctor's office that he had to smile a little. Especially when he spotted a superannuated copy of Highlights on a table in the corner. The story of how a muggle children's magazine arrived in this office must be a fascinating one. Or not, but it made him feel better to weave a fantastic tale for the unprepossessing magazine.

The witch at the receptionist's window looked up and smiled at him. "Name, dear?"

"I… I received this letter…" The witch scanned the letter and nodded, and pulled out several sheets of parchment.

"Sign in here, and fill these forms out. If you have any questions, just ask."

Nodding politely at her, he took the papers and went to sit, noting that there were several other people already in the room, and there were only two spots left. He chose a seat between the Highlights magazine and an older man, finding the magazine to be a good omen, and the man a better neighbor than the unwashed androgynous person and the overly endowed woman who flanked the other available chair.

The forms were straightforward, and quite easy to fill out. Almost disturbingly so, since they were to govern his life from here on out. He'd be on the list, and anyone who inquired would know. And if he didn't come back every other year to renew, they'd send aurors after him. He sighed, and tried to resign himself to the thought as he put his signature to the last page.

Depositing the papers with the witch in the window, he returned to his seat and sat back, closing his eyes. Last night had been a very long one, and he would have liked nothing better than to take a nap while waiting for his name to be called. That was not to be, though.

The same sense that had alerted the boy to the flinching people in the lift raised an alarm, and he started upright, crimson eyes blinking at the hand in front of him holding a small box of chocolate frogs. Confused, he looked at the hand's owner, finding himself pinned under the older man's amber gaze like a rabbit confronted by a wolf. It took a moment for the kindness in that face to register, and for the boy to relax.

"You look like you could use some chocolate." The man smiled, and the boy accepted the box gratefully, noting that it hadn't been opened. That, plus the fact that the man didn't set off any predatory warning bells, reassured the teen. He bit the first frog's head off, then nibbled at the now-inert sweet, feeling some strength return to him.

"Umm… thank you." The teen smiled wanly.

"Hard night last night?" The man looked sympathetic, noting the dark circles under the boy's eyes. "And coming here is never a picnic. Especially since it's probably your first time."

The boy nodded, also spotting signs of exhaustion on the older man's face. It seemed that they were both here for the same purpose. "I was too nervous this morning to eat. I know I should have, but…"

"Understandable. I recall my mother standing over me with a wooden spoon the morning before I first came here, insisting that I eat first. It helped that she came with me…" The man broke off, obliquely questioning why the boy was alone.

"My parents… died. A long time ago." Seeing the contrite look in the man's eyes, the boy shook his head, hastening to add, "It was… before. About a year before."

The man relaxed, although he still looked apologetic. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories… although I suppose I'm glad my faux pas wasn't worse."

"It's okay. It's been twelve years now. I'm kind of… accustomed to the idea." The boy smiled bravely, and the man had to admire his courage. To have to go through this without parents, for however many years the boy had been dealing. He wasn't sure he could have done it, himself. But rather than making the boy thing about it more, he groped for a change of subject.

"This is probably going to sound terribly rude, but… I couldn't help noticing that you don't smell quite like the rest of the people here…" The man lowered his voice conspiratorially, and whispered, "not that anyone smells quite like the gentleman in the green suit."

As the green-suited man had been the unwashed androgyne the teen had noticed earlier, he was hard-pressed to hold back a laugh. Instead, he looked up at the man with a rather rueful expression. "That's because I'm not a were_wolf._"

The man raised an eyebrow at the emphasis on 'wolf.' He'd heard of different varieties of weres in different parts of the world, but the boy didn't seem likely as a werebear or a weretiger, and most other variations were canine. "Really?"

"Really really." The teen got an amused glint in his eye, and pulled himself up to his full height, the action making the hood of his sweatshirt fall away from his face. "You, sir, have the rare honor of addressing one of the world's very few… wererabbits."

The man tried to imagine being a prey species in a room full of predators, and his estimate of the boy's courage revised drastically upward. "Not to offend, but… why would anyone be afraid of a rabbit?"

"Have you ever seen a muggle film called 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail?'" At the man's blank look, he shrugged and smiled. "Nevermind… it's just something a muggleborn friend of mine showed me when he found out. But… percentagewise, more people have been killed by wererabbits than werewolves."

The boy was quiet for a long moment after that, apparently lost in thought, and the man let him be. He'd already been nosy enough. The teen tried to maintain a calm appearance, but he was obviously growing agitated over something. Finally he looked up at the man, pinning him with an intense gaze. "What do you _do_? I mean… there's so much I was going to do with my life. I was head of my class… I wanted to do things. But… once I'm on the registry…"

"It's not the end of the world, son…" The man paused, trying to figure out how to answer the desperation he heard. A desperation he understood all too well.

Just as he opened his mouth to continue, a wizard poked his head in from the door that led into the offices. "Mr. Lupin? They're ready to see you now."

The man looked up with a mild curse and stood. "Here, lad. This is my card. Come to my office tomorrow and we'll talk."

The boy shook his hand, rather disappointed to see the closest thing in the room to a friend leave. Once the man had disappeared with the impatient wizard, the teen read the business card.

_The Werewolf Coalition_

_42 E. Ventue Alley_

_London_

_Remus Lupin, President_

_ **Review? Pleeeease? **  
_


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